


The Polo Job

by DelektorskiChick



Category: Leverage
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Established Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Horses, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Multi, No cheating, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Rough Sex, also technically pre-canon, professional sports, since we're getting a new series, somehow there's not a tag for actual polo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28347807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelektorskiChick/pseuds/DelektorskiChick
Summary: Mr. Quinn calls in the favor Eliot owes him. Polo shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer, Mr. Quinn/Eliot Spencer (Leverage)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57
Collections: 2020 Leverage Secret Santa Exchange





	The Polo Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seraphina_snape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphina_snape/gifts).



> seraphina_snape, I don't know if this is quite the fake dating fic you were hoping for, but I tried my best. I'm not so good with the pining; I'm more the instant gratification type myself, lol. Happy Holidays!!!

Parker watched as Eliot paced back and forth, one hand holding the phone to his ear and the other pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. But does it have to be _this_ weekend?”

He stopped his pacing, sighing deeply. “No, I’m not going back on my word.”

He took his hand away from his face and glanced over, first at her and then at Hardison. He kept his eyes on Hardison as he finished his call.

“No, I just had plans this weekend, that’s all.”

Hardison kept his eyes on his screen, but Parker knew he’d been listening when she saw his shoulders sag. The three of them had planned a whole weekend for no cons, no jobs; just good food and bad movies and each other. Looked like that was getting postponed.

“That was Quinn,” Eliot said as he hung up his phone. “He needs me as backup for a job in Florida. Starts tomorrow.” His eyes were nearly boring holes into the back of Hardison's head. “He’s calling in that favor I gave him for his help with Latimer and Dubenich. I couldn’t go back on my word, man.”

Parker shrugged to herself. She’d been looking forward to this weekend too, but things came up; things happened. She understood that and it didn’t bother her too much. Hardison on the other hand… his brain might understand, but his heart sometimes got in the way.

Eventually Hardison sighed, and she felt Eliot relax too.

“I understand, man. Are _you_ gonna need backup?”

She watched as the tension bled completely out of Eliot’s shoulders.

“Hopefully not, but I’ll keep an earbud on me. I could use a clean ID though; something artsy, from what Quinn was saying.”

“Artist, appraiser, or gallery owner?”

“Gallery owner, or at least an employee, I think. Quinn said he’d send me more details in a bit.”

As if on cue, Eliot’s phone chimed. He opened his mouth, probably to read it to them, but Hardison beat him to it.

“Text is on screen.”

Parker scanned it, feeling one eyebrow rise slightly as Eliot cursed and Hardison snorted.

“Want to text Quinn back and see if he wants me to make him a complementing ID? Something with the same last name?”

“Imma kill him.” Eliot said, glaring at the words glowing brightly on the screen. “Then I won’t owe him a damn favor anymore.”

“International Gay Polo Tournament,” Parker read aloud. “Why would there be a competition to have the gayest shirt?” she asked, completely perplexed.

Hardison laughed out loud while Eliot buried his face in his hands.

“It’s not shirts, Parker,” Eliot’s voice was muffled by his hands and Hardison's continued laughter. “Well, it is, but they’re only called Polo shirts because they were designed to play Polo in.” He ran his hands up his face and back through his hair. “It’s kind of like croquet mixed with soccer played from horseback.”

He gestured up to the screens where Hardison was pulling up the tournament’s website, and now Parker could see what he meant. The mallets the riders were using did look like really long croquet ones.

A second text made Eliot’s phone ding.

“Don’t even bother, man,” Hardison said as he put the text up on the screens. He screened the link it contained for viruses and hacks, then followed it. A digital dossier flashed up.

It took a few seconds, but the words finally made sense to Parker just as Hardison spoke in a voice half an octave higher than normal.

“Clones? He needs your help to steal _clones?_ How did I not know this was a _thing?_ ”

Eliot was suddenly more in his element than Parker had seen him since he first answered the call from Quinn.

“Rich people have been cloning horses for sports for a while. Not a whole lot of organizations allow it, like thoroughbred racing, but the FEI does. The first Polo player to do it was this really talented guy from Argentina, and he played a game on six identical clones of the first mare he ever rode professionally.”

Hardison was pulling up articles and websites as fast as Eliot was speaking. Many, _many_ pictures of horses were coming up on the screen, and Parker was getting a little uncomfortable. She’d gotten over her fear of horses that first year, but she still didn’t like them.

“From what I can tell from Quinn’s info, he’s not after the clones themselves, but a DNA sample from a horse that passed away, the latest inductee into the Polo Horse Hall of Fame, Mr. Polo. Apparently, someone is having a silent auction the day of the tournament at the International Polo Club, and the horse’s owner hired Quinn to retrieve it.

“He needs me as cover and back up. You don’t want to mess with Mexican Polo players or their horses. It’s like trying to kidnap a mob boss’s kid.”

“Alright man, I’ve got your new identity up and I’m building a background as we speak. Congratulations, your name is Aaron Boyle and you own an art gallery in Houston. Your passions are impressionist artists, wine tasting tours, and horseback rides on the beach.”

It was Eliot’s turn to snort. Hardison just kept typing and speaking over him.

“I’ve got a companion ident set up for Quinn; Terry Roth is a winery owner who likes thoroughbred racing and the club scene. You two met when you went on one of his wine tastings, and there was an instant connection.”

Parker watched in fascination as Eliot’s face got redder and redder.

“Dude, now you’re pushing it.”

“Hey, you wanted a cover, and so did Quinn.” Eliot’s phone dinged again as if in support of this statement. “Y’all are making a weekend date vacation out of the tournament, since you both love horses. Your plane leaves in seven hours.”

Hardison stood as Eliot got ready to walk out the door. “Hey, I ain’t finished.” He walked over to where Eliot stood, his spine again rigid, until Alec took Eliot’s face in his hands and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth. Parker heard Eliot moan, watched him go all supple and loose.

She felt like purring. She loved watching her boys kiss.

Eliot’s hands dropped to Hardison's waist, and Parker jumped off the counter to drape herself over Eliot’s back. She pressed her nose to his hairline and inhaled deeply as she listened to the sounds Alec was pulling from deep in Eliot’s chest.

“Do what you have to do, man,” she heard him rumble. “But make sure you remember to come back home.”

Eliot cupped one hand on the back of Parker’s head as he spoke.

“Always.”

*

Eliot always hated flying commercial, even if it was first class. He blamed that irritation for his lack of vigilance. When he walked out of the hotel bathroom, toweling his hair, Quinn was sitting there in the hotel chair waiting for him, full suit not even creased even though Eliot knew Quinn’s flight had gotten in after his own.

And Eliot wasn’t wearing a stitch.

He sighed and wrapped his hair towel around his hips as Quinn cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, don’t get all shy on me now, Spencer. We’re supposed to be dating, remember?”

Eliot started to pull his clothing out of his suitcase, letting his irritation at being caught unawares show in the stiff movements of his arms. “That’s in public, Quinn. This bedroom ain’t public.”

The other hitter shrugged his elegantly suited shoulders. “Whatever. But don’t bother with that,” he nodded at the jeans and shirt Eliot had grabbed. “Suit is in the closet, and I’m going to need you in it. We’re heading out to the polo grounds. If we’re playing tourists, we should start now.”

“You brought me a suit?”

Quinn sighed as he examined his well-kept fingernails. “I didn’t trust you to not turn up in Wranglers and a button down. Plus, my tailor is excellent at covering the lines a weapon can make in a good suit.” He stood, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, and stepped over into Eliot’s personal space.

He stood his ground, not moving and not giving an inch. Quinn got his face right next to Eliot’s ear, body not touching his but Eliot swore he could feel him. Quinn tucked Eliot’s hair behind his ear with one finger, and the contact felt like a brand.

“Wear the boots though, cowboy.” He whispered, and Eliot locked his muscles in place to stop his shiver. “They’ll look damn good with the suit.”

Quinn’s teeth just grazed Eliot’s earlobe, but before he could turn and punch the man he was gone.

“Fuck,” he said emphatically to the room, his breath leaving him in a rush. This weekend was going to _suck_.

*

See, the thing was, Quinn and Eliot had fucked before. Everyone knew about the fight or flight instinct thing, but what some people learned if they were in this line of work long enough was that it was more along the lines of fight, flight, and/or fuck. You fucked to bleed the tension after hiding, you fucked to celebrate surviving.

But this was… odd.

He’d done the dating thing before, would have been doing it this weekend with Hardison and Parker if Quinn hadn’t called in his favor. And it’s not like the three of them were exclusive; Parker and Alec understood he needed different things sometimes, and always welcomed him home. But-

“Flowers?” Eliot hissed through his teeth as he was met in the lobby of the hotel by the other hitter. Quinn was in his charcoal gray suit and holding a giant bouquet of mixed lilies and roses. “The hell you playing at?”

Quinn gave a short laugh as he bussed a kiss on each of Eliot’s cheeks, ending with a peck on the lips that left Eliot mildly stunned.

“Oh, honey, come on. I can’t spoil you on our _big date_?”

The emphasis was difficult to miss, and Eliot sighed internally, taking the flowers and shrugging on his persona for the con as he had the pale gray suit jacket.

“Come on,” Quinn said, tucking Eliot’s hand in his elbow. “I made reservations at the Mallet Grill for us.” He led him out to a flashy little silver convertible, holding the door open for Eliot as he slid into the vehicle. They were moving down the highway before Quinn spoke again.

“I got a message when I hit the lobby. They moved the bidding from tonight to tomorrow, during the playoff match. Tonight is just the viewing, proof they have what they claim.”

“And what is it they claim to have?” Eliot asked, pulling his hair back into as neat of a ponytail as he could manage while going sixty-five with the top down. “All the file said was genetic material and something about clones.”

“They claim to have both the reproductive genetic material of Mr. Polo as well as the right kind of cell material for cloning. Both are up for auction. The owner of the late Mr. Polo is understandably upset about this, as he was supposed to have exclusive access to said material.

“There are rumors that the owners of the polo mare Beetlejuice are going to be there too, wanting to secure the reproductive material to cross Mr. Polo’s line with hers.”

“So we’re here to steal-”

Quinn’s voice held a grimace. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Try not to think about it too much. I’m just focusing on how much the man is paying me.”

Eliot snorted. “I don’t even have that to look forward to.”

He felt Quinn’s eyes on him, burning through the suit. “Oh, no, you got something else to look forward to, Spencer.”

Eliot rolled his eyes and looked out at the fields passing by for the rest of the ride.

Quinn pulled them into the parking lot, and Eliot immediately felt out of place.

“We are seriously overdressed,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “I’d’a been fine in my jeans and a button down.”

“Man, it’s a part of the scene. If we didn’t take in the tailgate displays, it would have been weird. Besides, valet parking tomorrow and box seats for you to look pretty in while I hit the auction.”

Eliot opened his mouth to say something snarky, but before he could get the first syllable out Quinn’s mouth was on his, his tongue sliding roughly against Eliot’s as he gripped his chin. He stiffened for half a second, then relaxed into the kiss.

When Quinn let him up for air, Eliot whispered, “You do that again without some kind of warning, and I’m gonna punch you in the kidneys so hard you piss blood for a week, got it?”

Quinn had the nerve to laugh at him as he got out of the car.

Eliot just sighed. This weekend really was going to suck.

*

The dinner had been fairly decent, all things considered. Eliot had actually been impressed by a couple of the dishes, and Quinn had come back from the buyers meeting looking smug, so there was that. When they got back to the car, the flowers he’d given Eliot were wilted, but Quinn just shrugged.

“I’ll get you some more, baby.”

He telegraphed the kiss this time, so Eliot couldn’t punch him for the baby comment, but he still growled under his breath. That just made Quinn laugh again.

Oh, he was going to enjoy wiping that smug smirk off his face.

Somewhere between the hotel lobby and the suite, their pretend-drunk kisses got a little more serious. Just outside the door, Eliot found himself both sliding the keycard in the lock and gripping Quinn’s tie just under the knot.

He’d known where this was going from the moment he’d seen that smug bastard sitting in the hotel chair wearing the damn thing. No self-respecting hitter would wear something so potentially deadly unless it was for a specific reason.

And Quinn had probably had this reason in mind since before he’d called Eliot in.

Eliot cleared the keycard from the lock and pushed the door open with his hip as he dragged Quinn into the room by the tie. Once it snicked shut behind the two of them, Eliot dropped the small plastic card and cupped Quinn with his now free hand.

The small broken noise Quinn made was music to his ears.

“Jacket off,” he growled, biting at Quinn’s lower lip. The other hitter’s breath came heavy as he shrugged out of it, letting the expensive garment fall carelessly to the floor.

“Do you need me to use this,” Eliot tightened his grip on the tie, making Quinn gasp. “To make you keep your hands to yourself, or are you going to behave?”

Quinn didn’t answer, just kept his eyes on Eliot’s as he crossed his wrists behind his back.

“Good.” Eliot pulled Quinn down to his knees by the tie, using his other hand to undo the fly on his suit and then sinking his fingers into Quinn’s wind-tangled curls. He moaned when Quinn’s mouth found his cock, and again when Quinn did that _thing_ with his tongue that he knew drove Eliot up the wall.

Yup. This weekend sucked alright.

*

They both lay back on the king-sized bed in the suite, naked, panting, and covered in a light sheen of sweat.

“You gotta get better at just _asking_ for what you want, Quinn,” Eliot panted. “One of these days you’ll figure out I’ll still pick up the phone for you even if there’s no con involved.”

Quinn huffed out a single laugh. “You okay taking first watch?”

Eliot sighed, settling back with his arms crossed over his chest. “Sure.”

“Good.” Within moments, Quinn was snoring lightly.

Eliot hadn’t even been laying there an hour when his phone buzzed softly on the side table. Quinn stirred, but at Eliot’s whispered _all clear_ , he stilled again. Eliot looked at the screen and couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face.

It was a picture of Hardison, clearly taken by Parker. He was slumped back in his hacking chair, a cheese puff hanging from his mouth as he snored. His phone buzzed briefly again; this time it was a text.

 **(503:)** _Next time turn your earbud off. Be glad Hardison wasn’t wearing his, or you’d have some explaining to do when you got back._

A shiver rolled down Eliot’s spine at the memory of the last time Hardison had wanted him to explain something. They hadn’t left their bedroom for almost two days.

With the two of them, Eliot could let go. Everywhere else, he had to be in charge, control the variables. It was why Quinn came to him. He trusted Eliot enough to control the variables without risking himself. Eliot felt that way about Parker and Alec.

 _God,_ he missed the two of them.

 **(971:)** _And what if I wanted to explain myself to him?_

He sent back.

Five minutes went by, and then another picture popped up. This time it was Hardison looking directly at the camera, one eyebrow raised. The next text that came in was from Alec’s phone.

 **(503:)** _You already are gonna owe me an explanation for missing this weekend. Are you sure about that?_

Eliot shivered again, and if he hadn’t just gone three rounds with Quinn he’d be having to slip embarrassingly into the bathroom.

The three of them texted until it was time to wake Quinn up for his shift.

Eliot couldn’t wait to get _home_. Cause as much as he enjoyed Quinn’s company, that’s what Parker and Hardison were. Home.

*

The next day went ridiculously smoothly, right up until it fell apart.

Eliot had been walking back from the bathrooms between chukkers when Quinn came up out of seemingly nowhere and spun him back against the wall, locking his mouth onto Eliot’s. He tensed at first, preparing to throw the other man off him, when Quinn’s finger started tapping SOS on the back of his scalp.

Quinn pulled back, for all the world looking like he was kissing under Eliot’s ear.

“Three guys, armed, two rows back.”

“How’d you get caught?” he breathed into Quinn’s curls, eyes scanning the crowd from under his lashes and locking on the three guards.

“Didn’t, technically. They just know something was stolen and I was closest to the doors.”

Eliot felt him press some kind of thermos into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

“We just have to get out without them searching us.”

Eliot pulled the blueprints of the stadium up in his mind. He followed the brightly colored path Parker had drawn on the ventilation system before he’d left Portland. It could work.

“Back in the bathroom,” he whispered, one eye still on the guards. “I think I’ve got a way out.”

*

Their escape was a narrow thing, and they were covered in dust and had a couple bruises a piece by the time they were rolling back down the highway. Eliot hoped that the horses they’d “borrowed” to get back to the parking lot weren’t supposed to be in matches later that day. He pressed a hand carefully to his ribs and hissed. He hoped they were just bruised, not broken.

Really, _really_ bruised.

At least they hadn’t hit him in the face like they had Quinn. He needed to get pretty boy in the hotel before his eye really started changing colors and people started asking questions.

“’Fore we bug outta here, I’m gonna need you to tape my ribs or I won’t make it through airport security.”

Quinn just grunted as they pulled up in front of the hotel. Shit. Eliot hoped he wasn’t more busted up than he seemed.

They made it to their floor with no questions from the hotel staff. He made a note to leave a larger than average tip for both the housekeeping service and the concierge. Quinn was leaning on him pretty heavily as they got out of the elevator, which was a _bitch_ on his ribs, but it also made Eliot positive that Quinn was hurt worse than he was showing.

Once they actually got in the room, he sat Quinn down on the bed with a groan, his hand coming back up to his protesting ribs.

“Get your shirt off, Quinn. I’ve gotta stitch up whatever hole got put in you.”

Quinn made some noise, probably in protest. Eliot sighed.

“You’re bleeding through your thousand-dollar suit, man. Just take it off. Before I cut it off you.”

Eliot dug through his bag for the giant first aid kit he never went anywhere without. Short of actual internal surgery, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t fix with this thing.

Which was a good thing, ‘cause Quinn looked like he was about to pass out.

“C’mon, man,” he said as he laid the man down. “Don’t you pass out on me yet.”

Quinn’s laugh was dry and sounded like it came from far away.

“Yeah, I don’t know if I can help that.”

The bleeder was a big hole in Quinn’s side; not deep enough to be deadly as long as Eliot got it closed _now_.

Yeah, this weekend had sucked. But at least after this he got to go home.

*

He got Quinn onto his flight with no issues, the merchandise was in the hands of the client, and Eliot’s flight had run on time. Now it was Sunday evening, his weekend entirely over, and he was finally fucking _home_.

He unlocked the back door to the brew pub and was immediately met with an armful of Parker. She was enthusiastic, but still careful of his ribs. He was glad that he’d texted to warn them.

Parker laid an enthusiastic smack of a kiss on his cheek, and then his face was being cupped by Hardison’s warm hands and his mouth was on his.

Hardison pulled back, leaving their foreheads together as the fingers on one hand ghosted lightly over the bandages on Eliot’s ribs.

“Missed you,” he said as Parker draped herself around both of them.

“Missed you guys too.” Eliot kept his eyes closed and just breathed their presence in. “Am I too late for one episode of star-whatever?”

“Man, you know we’re in the middle of The Next Generation. Course we waited for you.”

“I made popcorn,” Parker said as she pulled away. “Do you want plain, cheesy, or spicy?”

“Dealer’s choice,” he said as Hardison finally pulled away.

“Aw, man, why’d you gotta go and tell her that? I’m going to be sweating through the next forty minutes, ‘cause you know she’ll want the spicy stuff.”

Eliot laughed, very lightly. He didn’t want to set his ribs off.

Yeah, this weekend had sucked, but things were finally looking back up.

**Author's Note:**

> So the [International Gay Polo Tournament](https://www.thepalmbeaches.com/top-event/international-gay-polo-tournament) is an actual thing I discovered by accident and took root in my brain. I literally knew nothing about polo until I came across this at the beginning of December, so please forgive me for any errors!  
> Mr. Polo was a real polo pony named [Horse to Remember](https://www.polomuseum.com/hall-of-fame/horses-to-remember), as was Beetlejuice (2019 and 2014 respectively) and Mr. Polo's owner and rider is a talented athlete named Memo Gracida. They did actually collect genetic material from Mr. Polo before he passed away.  
> The [International Polo Club and its Mallet Grille](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/International_Polo_Club_Palm_Beach) are real places  
> The FEI (Fédération Équestre Internationale) is a real thing that governs eight equestrian disciplines: Jumping, Dressage, Eventing, Driving, Endurance, Vaulting, Reining and Para-Equestrian.  
> Polo star Adolfo Cambiaso really did [compete and help win a polo match on six clones of his first horse](https://www.sciencemag.org/news/2016/12/six-cloned-horses-help-rider-win-prestigious-polo-match)  
> A polo match is typically an hour and a half long and divided into six seven minute periods called chukkers, with three minute breaks between chukkers and a fifteen minute half time. Here's a basic [overview](http://www.foxdenpolo.ca/learn-how-to-play-polo/polo-rules/) of what polo actually is.


End file.
